The Stars, Like Dust
by The Mysterious Blind Bandit
Summary: Pearl, before. A drabble and ficlet collection focusing on Pearl's origins and experiences prior to, during, and after the rebellion. Requited Pearl/Rose.
1. Friction

"You!" Pearl starts at the shout and turns slightly, only to find an unpleasantly brightly blue-streaked finger pointed at her, mere inches from her face. It is ridiculous, really - they all have designations, and it's not as if they are difficult to look up, but the currently supervising Apatite has apparently not bothered to do any such thing. "You," she repeats, "I need you and two others on the port bow thruster coolers, immediately."

Cooling system malfunctions in the middle of wormhole traversal are definitely no joke, and pearl hastily stuffs her tools back into the many small compartments of her personal case, with little resembling her usual care and meticulousness. She stumbles to her feet and dashes off down perfectly memorised narrow, twisting corridors and up shaky, shadowy catwalks.

Haste or no, she's still the last one to arrive at the site, and she feels her face colour even though the looks the other two pearls throw her remain perfectly (pointedly) neutral. She throws herself into opening up access hatches instead of dwelling on her own shortcomings.

They aren't fast enough. The heat mounts, and alarm indicators are lighting up all over the board by the time the three of them manage to even get close to the faulty crossed wiring, fingers worn raw with near-desperate scrabbling around bolts and seams. There is smoke, suddenly, and a very ominous sound, and pearl feels the first worrying jolt of the ship bucking under her knees.

They are plunged into darkness, then, and everything stops. The smoke clears, very slowly, and they are joined by Apatite, looking extremely displeased. Livid, even, if the almost glowing blue of her face is any indication. "Your registry numbers," she grinds out, and oh, _now_ she wants to know, of course- "last three digits only."

Pearl mutters the well-worn _nine-four-oh_ when prompted, then follows, when motioned to do so, the other two back to the segment of the ship's generous hold made to accommodate its large support crew of mostly pearls, with some ambers thrown into the mix.

Their knees and elbows knock together awkwardly as they settle down next to each other, but they are used to it. All of the pearls are, all one hundred and twenty six of them currently crewing the large mining vessel. _One hundred and twenty four_ , pearl corrects her internal count - there was that unfortunate mishap with a damaged pressure equaliser pump two shift rotations ago.

She came so very close to joining them just now, and this awareness makes her feel… strange. If it hadn't been for the bridge commander engaging emergency power cut measures (and throwing a rather big wrench into their schedule, most likely), she has no doubt there would now be scarcely enough of her gem left to be residue scraped off of blown-open bulkheads, and the only record of her ever having existed would be a footnote in a ship's manifest. A minor loss, and brief inconvenience, at best. There would always be more pearls to take the place of ones that got damaged or destroyed or lost, and there could always be more made, if necessary – on very short notice, even, with modern farming technology.

There is a quality to the hum of the power supply converters and the steady pulse of the fuel injectors, at their loudest down near the cargo area, that pearl usually finds soothing. But it's not working now, for whatever reason, and she could have been _gone_ -

She feels wrong and cramped and she wants out- where? there isn't exactly anywhere to go on a ship in the middle of space, but it doesn't matter. She scrambles to her feet in a near-panic and starts weaving her way through the currently unneeded pearls calmly waiting for a call, perfectly docile, and perfectly disposable. Interchangeable, almost, in the eyes of most Gems, except for records of mistakes. Efficiency is important, of course, and pearl populations are kept at carefully _optimal_ levels. Tolerance thresholds are low, flaws and defects are quickly exposed.

Some heads turn towards her, but very few. Pearls are extraordinarily good at minding their own business, even amongst themselves. They probably assume she is acting on orders – a very natural assumption to make, of course, as pearls do so very little else. And pearl finds herself thinking sudden intrusive thoughts of how both these things reek of quiet, subtle, perhaps even desperate attempts at self-preservation – using what tools they are given.

She hurries past the pearls just coming in from their shifts, and makes for the first lift going upwards. Soon enough, she steps out onto a secondary observation deck, and finally slows down.

She is alone, which is rare enough in itself.

The view is mesmerising.

They've apparently made it out of the wormhole in one piece, and are now calmly coasting onwards. Not too far off their starboard side, pearl can easily see the very recognisable wedge-shape of the Zircon Cluster, famous for its frequent ion storms. There's one happening right now, dazzlingly intense, and pearl edges forward, barely managing to force her legs to work. It's bright, and in intervals bursts brighter still, pale violet flash-fire bolts that leave strangely discoloured shadows floating in pearl's vision when they're gone.

She raises a hand, presses long fingers against the thick glass of the viewport, and watches ribbons of light stream between the gaps. It feels like touching- _something_ , and she nurses a slowly mounting frustration because she has so very little to compare it to. Pearl leans forward, and with a quiet _clink_ of her gem lets her forehead rest against the barrier between her and the universe before her.

She wants - and while _want_ isn't exactly new, it's not something she's ever allowed herself or been allowed to nurture and let take hold - to go closer. She wants, perhaps, to board one of those smaller crafts they keep around for quick station runs when there isn't time or need to haul the entire ship in and deal with complicated docking procedures. She wants to drive the small speeder's engines to the limit, dashing straight towards the storm, then cut all power and leave herself drifting and looking on in perfect silence, illuminated by nothing but what the universe freely gives her.

She wants-

"What are you _doing_?" Comes a hiss from behind her, and she jumps away from the glass as if burned. It's another pearl, one of the other two that were lucky enough to get noted down… well, however long ago _that_ had been.

"Nothing!" Pearl exclaims, too quickly, and too loudly, then reverts back to a whisper. "I was just… I was just looking."

"Were you told to look?"

"No."

"Then get away from there and go wait for the directives to roll out, before you get us both in trouble."

She understands, of course. They are both on thin ice after that disastrous last shift, and drawing attention to themselves is the very last thing they need. If it were just herself, then perhaps she'd argue, and fight, and stay until someone came to remove her- but she won't pointlessly risk another.

The other pearl takes her arm, but pearl moves so she is holding her by the hand, and it feels strange- strange that they all spend so much time packed together in far too small spaces, but have so little experience with voluntary touch. She looks over at her companion as they make it to the lifts, at the features that are _almost_ her own, but a little sharper here, and a bit more severely sloped there, sporting a frown that is uniquely someone else's, and she decides that perhaps, if the opportunity presents itself, she might like to talk to her. Decides, also, that if it doesn't, she'll create the opportunity herself.

She sits down once they get back to the hold, wiggles into the cramped space that's been left empty for her, and accidentally elbows the pearl to her right. Her knees knock together, and it's as if she never got up and left.

Except she _did_ , which makes all the difference, and vivid colours play on her lids as she closes her eyes and quietly hums along with the power converters.


	2. Gravity

Stranded is the only word for it, really.

Pearl can settle down on the rise of a green hill and wait for this system's single sun to set - and she does, every evening - then stretch out her arms towards the countless still, frozen lights sprinkled across the night sky, moving as if to run her fingers over them, or perhaps brush them away. They look cold and dead and so very, very distant - nothing like what she had come to know the stars and being among them to be like. The longer she looks at them, the less she wants to see them hanging above her, openly mocking, reminding her of places she will never visit again, and of wonders she has forever forfeited seeing.

Traded, rather - she thinks as she relaxes her limbs and lets her hands fall into her lap - for something equally wondrous, if not even more so.

Rose lifts her eyes, looks at her knowingly ( _she always, always knows_ ), and smiles brighter than any spectacular comet tail Pearl has ever had to creep out of crowded cargo holds to gaze at. She remembers the way the searing blue-purple flashes of the ion storms off the side of the Zircon Cluster burned into the backs of her projected form's eyes, and the way she stood transfixed until a fellow pearl took her by the arm to drag her away from the viewport. She has been through enough atmospheric reentries and faulty, failing inertial dampeners to be intimately familiar with the jolting and dizzy sensation of _falling_.

Pearl can explain in great detail the exact equations behind it, the way the play of forces becomes a delicate balance of expressions and figures that tips to one side or the other before again pouring into the physical world, but all Rose Quartz has to do is curl her lips and tilt her head, a veritable waterfall of pink locks following her every movement, and extend a welcoming hand, always carefully kept just warm and soft enough.

"A dance, my Pearl?"

It is, she supposes, a kind of gravity as well - it is certainly inexorable and irresistible enough.

Theirs is not an elaborate or flashy choreography, but its simplicity has a beauty and elegance all its own. Rose holds her close all the while, and Pearl feels awareness itch in the back of her mind, of how she went from being one of many (but never quite the way she was supposed to be, or the way they wanted her to be) to being just one - then growing into being _one_ and _one of two_ , all at once. It is an arrangement that settles her into the purest feeling of calm rightness and belonging the universe has so far offered her.

 _We can never go home_ \- the words spoken long ago still surface every so often to rattle around Pearl's busy mind and bury deeply distressing icy claws into her spine.

It's alright, she thinks, when they are like this, as together as it is possible to be. All she wants and needs of _home_ can be within her, or between them, or both, and the stars feel far less unforgivingly distant when looked at through new eyes.


	3. Magnetism

No permanent losses on their side, only about a dozen recovering in their gems, and Homeworld driven to a messy retreat. A good day, all in all, by Pearl's reckoning.

True, she got taken out of the fight earlier than planned thanks to Emerald's failure to close ranks and hold off the hastily put-together assault on their weakened left flank – a _very_ obvious attempt to reach Rose Quartz herself, and something Pearl quickly put a stop to, one way or another.

Things are well over by the time she regenerates, her hurry notwithstanding, and so she remains lying down among the others in the unofficially designated recovery section of the camp, playing out the events of the day in her mind, mulling over every slight mistake and possible alternative. She couldn't have known Homeworld's new agates had added reach thanks to extra links in the chains of their flails, true. But her footwork could have been much, much better, even in the very close quarters they ended up forced into, and-

Warm hands press against the flat of her belly, and pull her back. The years have taught her to be wary and constantly vigilant: whatever she was once meant for, instincts that guarantee survival ( _perhaps, if they're lucky, sometimes_ ) develop in this whirlwind of constant peril, ambushes and skirmishes. Rose Quartz is the only being in this universe whom she allows at her back, consciously or no. Rose, in turn, is well aware, and indulges in the trust as often as she can, basking in the loud absence of a start or a flinch, cradling Pearl from behind and enveloping her in the closest thing to safety this sad, troublesome, wonderful planet can offer them.

It feels… special, and rather new, to know that while Rose, so obviously powerful – amazing, unstoppable, incomparable Rose – could easily break her and destroy her in an instant, she would never, ever deliberately hurt her. It is strange and wonderful, as well, to be able to be so very sure of something.

Pearl snaps out of the cloyingly sweet haze filling her mind and turning her limbs to useless jelly, slightly embarrassed to notice that Rose is speaking, and has obviously been for a while now. She catches the tail end of a murmured statement, and repeats a tentative, questioning "After?"

"Yes. This will be over one day – sooner rather than later, I hope. I can't wait! I wonder what we will do then?"

It sounds so certain and set in stone when Rose says it, and Pearl can almost _see_ the war ending, the retreating backs of Homeworld soldiers and the green-blue afterlight of departing ships bursting out of Earth's atmosphere. She runs her fingers up and down the arms that encircle her, tracing increasingly intricate patterns as thoughts multiply in her mind, insistent and unstoppable. Thoughts of Rose and her, her and Rose, and possibly- sometimes- nobody, nobody but them.

"Oh, it will be lovely," Pearl clamps down on an almost-outburst of _Of course it will be lovely,_ _ **you're**_ _lovely_ , and focuses instead of listening to Rose's vision of their tentatively shared future. "And then, once things have calmed down and settled somewhat, I won't have to handle so much of the day-to-day affairs myself. A bit of clever delegation and we can take a little trip, perhaps. Get away for a bit, and see just what other wonderful sights Earth has to show us."

Rose sounds happy, optimistic, her heart apparently lighter than it's seemed in months- this is what Pearl wants to focus on, latch onto, and treasure. But she is distracted. "Just…" she starts, almost not daring to believe, half-convinced her thoughts have just turned very loud and drowned out what Rose is actually saying and none of it is real, "just the two of us?"

She can feel the chuckle deep in Rose's chest pressed against her back, and hear it in the warm murmur right next to her temple. "Just the two of us. You know there's no one else I'd rather have at my side."

Gentle hands ruffle and smooth her hair, and Pearl feels like she might just float off the ground given half a chance, so she snuggles further back into the hold. The bubbly warmth churning in her insides emboldens her enough for her to start voicing a wish of her own. "I would, perhaps-"

She hesitates a bit too long, because Rose quietly prompts her to continue. "Yes?"

"I was thinking… I'd like to go to the sea." A new sea, filled with strange creatures and odd tidal phenomena, and one that has never seen lines upon lines of saltwater farms and eerily identical production facilities. One which won't make her endlessly wonder and desperately want to know just _where_ in the well-documented and highly streamlined pearl manufacturing process the mistake actually happened.

The memories are still so sharp and vivid, Pearl can almost feel the cold spray seep into her clothing and inch underneath her skin. She almost wishes she had something physical to recoil from as she draws further into herself, and further into Rose. _Rose-_ Rose is always warm and patient and welcoming to her, for her. Pearl decides for the thousandth time that yes, she likes this touch, and never, ever wants to be without it again.

Rose hums in agreement after a brief while, and Pearl likes to think she understands. "We can do that. You have to promise me something, though."

Pearl feels a catch in her throat and a nervous chill start its way down her spine. There was a _but_ , of course there was, of course there was. A condition, a price for everything, because, really, she didn't deserve any of it in the first place, it was not for her, and she'd better make it worthwhile for Rose, and for everyone else, and-

"Don't throw it all away."

Pearl pauses, her thoughts pause, her breathing pauses. _What?_

"You may think I'm selfish, to demand things of you like this. And I am, I hate it, but…" There are fingers tracing Pearl's newly reformed and entirely whole collarbone and chest, as if looking for some kind of reassurance, and Rose expels a sad little laugh, "who will I take to watch the waves with me, otherwise?"

Both of them are silent, for a while, and Pearl allows her hands to slowly uncurl from the tight, shaking fists they were clenched into. Rose presses a gentle, barely-there kiss to her temple and starts speaking again - more calmly now, but with an edge still very much present.

"Please promise me, Pearl. Please. I can't bear to watch you get hurt like this again. If you can't for yourself - oh, I do so wish you would, I wish you could see your own beautiful, brilliant worth- but I understand, or at least I think I can begin to. So if that's too hard right now, then please, for me? Stay alive, for me? For us?"

Somewhere along the line Pearl's gotten turned around in the embrace – whether by her doing or Rose's is perfectly unclear – so they're face to face now. There are tears in Rose's eyes even though there's nobody around to heal, and Pearl realises her own cheeks are damp as well. Rose's gaze is on her face, searching and expectant, and Pearl forces out a weak, stammered reply. "I can- I can try."

"That's all I ask. Just – try trusting me to take care of myself, Pearl, and try thinking of yourself, for once. You do deserve it, whether you believe me or not." The tone is soft and saddened in a way that makes Pearl want to rage at herself, and she looks away, frowning.

Rose draws them even closer to each other in response, and Pearl relaxes enough to allow herself to start breathing again. She focuses on the way one of Rose's hands is pressed against the small of her back, moving in soothing almost-circles, while the other tilts her chin upwards with little more than the suggestion of a touch and perhaps a barely audible whisper of _my Pearl_. The next thing she feels is the softest of kisses pressed to the gem on her forehead, and an equally gentle but more lingering one on her lips.

"I love you."

It's quiet, but real.

Pearl sees the end of the next battle.


	4. Tension

She's never before seen Pearl take to a human custom so quickly and so eagerly.

Rose covers her mouth as a giggle bubbles up in her throat – fond, pleased amusement at the sight greeting her; an overwhelming burst of relief and joy at the unlikely reality of their shared existence and continued survival, even though it's been millennia since… then; a wild, heady mixture of things, suddenly set off by the endlessly devoted Gem before her fervently immersing herself in a newly found way of expressing and understanding her own feelings.

Pearl looks up at her from her strictly and precisely angled bow, questioning confusion on her face bordering on slight hurt, and Rose is reminded that laughter is still not something Pearl associates with particularly good things. "My liege?"

"Oh, nothing to worry about," Rose assures her, tone deliberately airy, "I'm just, well, happy. It's lovely to see you so at ease, and comfortable being… you."

It might not be exactly according to prescribed courtly rules, but Pearl is already flustered enough, so Rose takes her hand and presses a kiss to its back, then gently pulls her forward. "I want this for you, always. My champion."

Pearl relaxes into the familiar embrace with a pleased sigh, at first, but soon snaps back to alertness. She makes a very feeble attempt to disentangle herself from Rose, failing even though the hold on her isn't particularly firm at all. "N-no, you're supposed to give me a favour, and then I-"

"A favour?"

"Yes. A… a handkerchief, perhaps – something I can carry with me, t-to…"

Pearl's face is quite blue and quite close to Rose's, and Rose happily draws even closer, openly marvelling at how the usually countless words on Pearl's lips simply dry up at this proximity, even as her throat keeps working, futilely trying to forge onwards.

"A favour, then," she whispers, and Pearl shivers at the sound, "for my valiant knight."

It is the gentlest press of lips at first, and Pearl melts into it, almost greedily. Rose smiles into the kiss, and enjoys the honest simplicity of the gesture and the moment they find themselves in, her thoughts all heading in the direction of a _Who could have dreamed-?_.

They break apart, foreheads resting against one another. Pearl's gem is warm, almost glowing.

"Good?"

Pearl's answer is a pleased hum.

"Good."

—

"Oh, my." Rose is gazing at her, openly appreciative in a way that likely borders of scandalous for current human mores. "That is a lovely look on you, Pearl. You cut quite the dashing figure."

It's been thousands and thousands of Earth years, and that flirtatious tone still makes Pearl's insides do strange things. But she's prepared, this time, and she can sweet-talk, too. "Nothing could match your radiance and splendour, Rose. But it is my duty to try to live up to the lofty standards you set," she flawlessly executes a trim, courtly bow, adorning it with a flourish that makes Rose giggle - a sound that makes it quite impossible not to smile - and offers her hand. "Shall we?"

Rose takes it, as is proper and expected, according to the protocol Pearl studied meticulously - or, a thought rises, unbidden, and Pearl can't help but wonder: perhaps she simply does it because she _wants_ to. The sudden little notion is pleasant. And some of it Rose must be able to read on her face, because her smile softens as her arms come around Pearl's proffered one.

The Hofburg is a glittering, buzzing mess, and Pearl would feel dizzy if it weren't for the anchoring presence at her side as they make their way down the grand staircase to the ballroom, the sound of their names being announced melding with the music and the chatter of the crowd.

Fingers ghost over her high, lacy collar and the precise curls that brush her jaw as the two of them join the grand waltz that is just starting, almost as if it were timed just for them. Pearl thinks of trying to hold onto the quickly scattering remnants of some vague idea that _she_ was supposed to lead this dance, but the next spin Rose sends them into drives home the futility of this effort. She feels the very familiar beginnings of a tingle around her gem, and she bites her lip as Rose laughs sweetly. "Oh, careful. We wouldn't want to fuse, would we? What would the dear _Herr Bürgermeister_ think, if a stranger were to suddenly take the place of his two guests of honour?"

Laughter spills forth from Rose's wondrous lips again – quite possibly the most spellbinding and dangerous giggle humanity has ever had the privilege of hearing, and Pearl is suddenly acutely aware of the gazes of so many who would like to be in her place right now.

Many have been in Rose's arms, but nobody ever quite like this, like her. She knows this to be true with a fierce certainty that has comforted her through patches of near-neglect and beaten down the nagging fear of being replaced, time and again.

"Oh, yes," Pearl hums thoughtfully, then allows just the slightest bitter, biting twist into her words, "and Fräulein Bauer would undoubtedly be shocked, as well. Is she getting a dance from you tonight?"

"Mmm, no, Pearl. Tonight," Rose somehow manages to lean even closer, breath tickling Pearl's cheek, "tonight is just for you."

The dances continue, but Pearl finds herself sadly aware that both the players and the other guests are all merely human, easily worn out and tired, and that the night is bound to end far sooner than she would ever want it to.

—

1988 is a pleasantly calm year for them, the way Pearl sees it. Amethyst calls it boring, and insists Greg go on tour to promote his non-existent new album, taking them all with him. Garnet predicts a calamity befalling Beach City should they leave, and so the matter is closed.

Pearl's relief is immense.

The man has already inserted himself into almost every aspect of their lives – spending entire days on the road with him in his frankly disgusting vehicle would be going intolerably too far. Though, perhaps… perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad: after all, it would have meant entire days at Rose's side again, too.

The waiting – for the _other one_ to leave, or die, or fade in whatever way, or for Rose to finally lose interest – has never felt quite this hard. Pearl heaves a long-suffering sigh, and moves to start unpacking the several bags of various consumables she was tasked with acquiring, both for Amethyst and for… Greg, for when he 'stays over'. The task is soothing, at least, with just the right amount of repetition and organising involved.

 _I'll dance with you in Vienna…_

"But you already have."

Pearl jumps at the voice, suddenly made aware both that her careless humming had been done out loud, and that she had an audience. Rose is standing on the warp pad, and Pearl completely failed to notice her warping in – a rather unlikely occurrence, so her distraction is obviously worse than expected. "I-it's just a song I heard while going to the city to get Amethyst her… food… items… it's really nothing-"

"I know the song," Rose offers, once Pearl has trailed off.

"Oh?"

Of course she does, Pearl almost berates herself: Rose has always kept up to date on all of humanity's achievements, be they leaps of scientific progress, revolutions in artistic endeavour, or a change in the repertoire of the local busker. She also knows how to read Pearl's mood perfectly – small surprise, after the countless years together, or, well, mostly together, and isn't _that_ just the crux of the problem – because she offers a smile that is almost contrite.

"Do you know the rest of it?" Rose asks, stepping off the warp pad.

Pearl does. She also knows her face is burning bright blue as she thinks of the continuation, and Rose is coming closer, smile widening all the while, and oh, she's missed this, and missed _her_ so very much-

There is a warmth at her back, gentle yet insistent hands on her hips leading her into a spin, and a familiar mouth at her ear spilling a melodic whisper with a now audible smile. " _I want you, I want you, I want you..._ "

Pearl relaxes into the routine by the time Rose reaches the second verse, and lets herself slowly lean and fall backwards into a pair of arms that somehow still always, always catch her. Rose twirls them both around, then around again, spins Pearl out, then pulls her back in with a practiced tug. They melt into each other, and Rainbow Quartz carries on the dance in a steady three-quarter measure.


End file.
